Sunday, March 30, 2014

I just sent two lesbian short stories to Laura Antoniou, who is editing the next volume of Best Lesbian Erotica. I'm not sure why Cleis tapped an author famous for BDSM as the editor - maybe it's pure name recognition - but I would dearly love to be in this collection.

Anyway, both stories are previously unpublished. I thought I'd give you a kiss today from the more romantic of the two, entitled "Late Show" - a story about opposites attracting and second chances.

Her scent hadn't changed – tobacco and leather, old-fashioned
lavender and good honest sweat. Like a trained dog, I began to
salivate, new wetness flowing everywhere. When she leaned in,
reaching for me, though, I shrank away. It was too dangerous. If she
touched me, I was lost.

She paused, her gaze raking over my trembling body before returning
to my face. “After ten years, Di, you still gonna shut me out?”

We hung there in silence, mere inches between us. Close up, I could
see the past decade in her face: some lines at the corners of her
eyes, a hard set to her mouth, a half-inch scar along her right
cheekbone. Then she smiled and the years vanished. Once more she was
the bad girl, the school rebel, the one who'd cornered me behind the
diner and dared me to kiss her.

“Never mind. I can wait till you get off work.”

She strolled back to straddle her bike and lit a cigarette. I
couldn't take my eyes off her, and she knew it.

For the next hour, she ignored me, or at least she pretended to. I
sat in the ticket booth, squirming in my wet underwear, watching her
chain smoke, imagining those blunt, competent fingers molding my
flesh.

The show let out. People wandered out of the theater, chattering
about the movie, and disappeared into the balmy darkness. Harvey
killed the lights on the marquee. “You want me to lock up inside?”
he called out through the door.

“No, that's okay. I'll take care of it. You can go home.”

He stepped out into the street. “ Noticing Haley, he gave her a
friendly nod. “Good evening, miss. Nice bike.”

“Thanks. I'm here to take Diane for a ride.”

“Lucky lady.” He waved and headed for his VW Beetle. “See you
tomorrow, then.”

The grumble of his vehicle died away as he rounded the corner onto
Maple. Silence settled over the empty street. Still perched on her
motorcycle, Haley watched as I stowed the cash drawer and locked the
ticket booth behind me.

I swallowed the lump rising in my throat and held out my hand. “Come
on.”

Her calloused palm felt dry and cool against my fevered skin. I led
her through the lobby, lit only by the glowing Coke machine, then
through the velvet curtains into the dim auditorium.

I'd been thinking of heading for Mr. Parson's office, behind the
screen. Haley didn't give me the chance. She yanked me to a stop,
then swung me around to face her. One arm encircled my waist and
pulled me into a tight embrace, compressing my full breasts against
her smaller ones and striking sparks from my nipples. With her other
hand, she fisted my hair and dragged my mouth to hers.

We went from zero to sixty in seconds. She forced her tongue between
my lips, savage and hungry. I let her take me, drinking in the
mingled flavors of smokes, beer and mint toothpaste. Meanwhile she
grabbed my ass and ground her crotch against mine. Fierce bolts of
pleasure shot through the heaviness coiling in my cunt.

I clawed at her shirt, desperate for her skin. She released me long
enough to pull the garment over her head and toss it aside. She'd
never worn a bra as a teenager; she hadn't changed. The girlish
swellings still featured coffee-colored areolae the size of silver
dollars. I dove for her sweet nipples, sucking hard the way she
liked. If you had asked me what turned Haley on, I might not have
been able to tell you, but my body remembered how to make her moan.